Valley of the Shadow
by Meagan Snow
Summary: Toris Laurinatis had always been afraid of death. One might go so far as to call him thanatophobic. But as he thought about it, he realized that he didn't quite mind the idea- Definitely depressing, something of a musing drabble by Toris on the prospect of death. Suicidal?Liet, Depressed!Liet


**Hey, all! Eh, I just wanted to say "sorry" for a few things. One, sorry that I haven't updated my long stories in so long. Two, sorry I haven't worked out a translation for my new one quite yet, so it might take a while. Three, sorry for my spelling and grammar in this short; once again, this was written between the hours of two and three AM when I was sort of having a "feelsy" moment. And four… well… I'm not all that adept at writing Toris, and, you know, this might be a bit OOC. **

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All his life, Toris Laurinatis had feared Death. In fact, he had been terrified of it. Many people would have gone so far as to diagnose him with thanatophobia, or the panic fear of such. Perhaps they would have been right. He'd never know, because now we welcomed it as an old friend.

How silly he had been, all his life. He had driven himself into repeated bouts of depression just considering it, still as a child. When most people his age were thinking about a fair mixture of lessons and games, his thoughts had been preoccupied by the dark side of life, or lack thereof. Death was his constant companion; wherever he went, he could see its shadow following him. He had never stopped to look at the beautiful thing casting the shadow. Life.

Perhaps, then, this was simply karma. Maybe this living hell that had become reality to him was intended to make him see how much he had had. _Karma_. He could almost hear Feliks scoff at the borrowed term. Whenever he had gotten too philosophical, the more scientifically-minded latter had brought him back to earth with a teasing comment like "_woah, Liet, your karma totally ran over my dogma!"_

Ah, Feliks. There wasn't a single person that he had grown closer to- or whom he had missed more after they separated- during his entire miserable lifetime. Had anyone just taken a glance at the pair, they would have immediately declared Feliks the idealist and Toris the "reasonable one," but that was about as far as possible from the truth. Feliks was, of course, an incurable idealist and optimist- as a foil to Toris' pessimistic views- but in all that, he had a very rational point of view. From that standpoint, he, unlike Toris, had always been one to enjoy life. He seemed to be bent on milking it for all it was worth, in his kooky-yet-logical way, despite all the forces of the universe seemingly having decided otherwise. Always living the moment, never anticipating the future. Why couldn't he have taken his friend's advice and led a carefree lifestyle?

Which wasn't to say Feliks was carefree. When push came to shove, he was a very serious person, just as serious as Toris couldn't help being. But most of the time, a landslide majority of it, he was either a really good actor or was genuinely able to put his past behind him and _carpe diem_. Carpe diem, another borrowed phrase. But that one was special: it was the catchphrase of the man he wished he had been, so many years ago.

"_Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I shall not fear._" Toris, unlike his best (only) friend, had never been one for the Bible. He had only remembered that one verse because it reminded him so much of his life. Perhaps that was where his mistake lay? Because he certainly walked through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. But he had feared it more than anything else. And _why? Why, i_f he himself was unable to die?

As he lay there now, locked in a dark basement cell after yet another violent beating from his captor and superior, he could easily say that he would have welcomed death. He would have welcomed it with open arms, like an old and estranged companion who had come to end his suffering. Alas, the stars had determined otherwise (he could almost hear Feliks commenting on whether stars could determine anything), because Toris was immortal. That was the ridiculousness of the entire situation. He had spent his entire life anticipating Death when he knew perfectly well it would never come, could never come.

If he was lucky, perhaps he would be let out the next day. If he was not, he would be left, tormented by hunger and thirst, until someone remembered him. And what then? He would be allowed to resume serving his master until the next time that he spoke a word out of line, or perhaps looked a little too conspicuous, or even smiled. If he had ever had any reason to smile.

Toris found himself unable to move without aggravating the fresh wounds on his back and chest, and besides, the cool stone felt soothing against the inflamed flesh. He briefly marveled how bizarre it was: Feliks had been thought dead more times than he could count to in English. But he had never even seemed to bother with the idea of Death, instead focusing on finding a way to resurrect. He, on the other hand, had only realized his true stance after a lifetime of masochistic torment when faced with the prospect of his own demise. He found he quite liked the idea, actually. Whatever came after, or didn't come, if there was nothing, had to be better than his current life. And it didn't look like that was ending anytime soon.

So Toris found himself once again closing his eyes and praying a useless prayer asking for death to whoever would listen, as he had already had on so many occasions since being captured.

_Dear God, if you exist, please just let me die. Please don't make me live this life anymore, I just can't take it anymore. I know I don't deserve Your listening ear, but Feliks always said You are kind and merciful. Wouldn't it be an act of mercy to end my life? _

Hah. As if God, if there even was such an entity- Feliks certainly seemed to believe so, but Toris himself couldn't be sure- would even listen to the futile prayers of one, broken man trapped in the hell of his own mind.

He didn't even dare to think about any other end to his misery, to allow himself to hope. This imprisonment would doubtlessly go on for as long as he lived and even longer. And he lived forever. No, his only way out was Death. His only hope, his last, most faithful companion.

Toris Laurinatis, the immortal Nation of Lithuania, lay in a dark cell and wished for Death. Was it funny, how low he had fallen? From being one of the Commanders of Eastern Europe to this wreck of a man? So low as to honestly plead with his captor to kill him instead? And to be denied this "privilege"? With nothing and nobody left to live for? After all, Latvia and Estonia couldn't care less about his fate and Feliks had probably already forgotten his name. He wouldn't be surprised if all he was to anyone was "Russia's housemaid." And if nobody would even realize had he died.

Yet Death refused to come, at least for now. So Toris knew that he had to survive another day, another week, another thousand lifetimes. That was his curse. (_Hah! Curse…_) When he had feared Death above all else, it had seemed so horrifyingly near. But when he wished for it, it became an unattainable. He was forced to survive, to continue to survive.

Toris Laurinatis was no longer afraid of Death. If there was a reverse term to thanatophobic, that might describe his current situation. Many people, had they cared, would have diagnosed him as suicidal. But they wouldn't be right. Toris didn't want to end something beautiful. He wanted to start something better.

"_To the well-organized mind, Death is only the next great adventure."_

That had been from a book, hadn't it? Once upon a time, in another lifetime, Toris had been quite the bibliophile.

"_Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and above all, pity those who cannot die_."

"_Does it hurt? Dying."_

_"Quicker and easier than falling asleep."_

Toris eventually fell asleep from exhaustion. It didn't matter. His next day would be just as miserable as the past. But Sleep, like his twin brother, Death, offered a brief reprieve, whether into the black void of no thought, troubled dreams, or the Afterlife itself. Sleep was every bit as good as Death… but he had the fault of not being permanent. And eventually, Toris would wake up to resume occupying his little personal corner of hell. But for now, Sleep had had mercy on him where Death did not, and Toris slept.

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**Please comment if you liked it :) I really can't write Toris all that well, and these are sort of the ravings of a girl who's read one too many sad books. "Bob was here" works, too ;)**


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